I'm Afraid To Report I Have Suffered The Same Fate As Big Cat And My Insanely Jacked Doppelgänger Has Been Found

Last night I received a dagger of a direct message on Twitter. From the thumbnail of the message, I thought, “Oh damn, an attractive lady sliding into my DMs. Unreal!” (because that doesn’t happen often). Then, I opened it up, and it contained the first image you see above, captioned by her, “Hot seat: you. #FoxyRobbie”.

Yikes.

This ain’t good, folks. When you see what you could be but will absolutely never in a million skillion years be…it sucks. Homeboy looks good at all times. He looks hot grilling up (an eleven piece?) Chicken McFuckinNuggets. I couldn’t look hot in a three-piece suit on the red carpet of the Met Gala with Adriana Lima wrapped around one arm and Emily Ratajkowski wrapped around the other. Why is life the way it is? Why does the internet exist as it does? Should we have even left England and started a Revolutionary War in the first place? That’s what the discovery of Foxy Robbie has me pondering right now. My life has been sent into a tailspin. I’m a living embodiment of the Mr. Krabs meme.

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If I started hitting the gym, pumping some iron, saying my vitamins and eating my prayers, I could resemble that adonis of a man. But instead, I sit on my couch all day, every day, watching wrestling and eating Thai food, constructing a body and shape that resembles nothin’ but lesbians. God dammit.